


yet still steadfast

by iphigenias



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Fluff, M/M, in which gene is a little shit and babe is out of his depth, this is so self-indulgent lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 03:52:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3473381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iphigenias/pseuds/iphigenias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Babe is the new gym teacher at Toccoa High and Gene is the school nurse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	yet still steadfast

**Author's Note:**

> so this was brewing in my mind for a while and then @punkroe said i should write more baberoe fic...3 hours later, here i am
> 
> beta'd by marnie, this is based upon the hbo portrayals of easy company and not the real men, no disrespect is intended
> 
> title a remix from john keats' poem _bright star_
> 
> edit: i know nothing about the american school system

17-year-old Edward Heffron would never have thought he’d step foot inside his old high school again, let alone as the new gym teacher. _Shows how much he knew_ , Babe now thinks wryly, as he treads the familiar path down the strangely empty corridors towards the front office. Even the posters tacked up on the noticeboards look the same, Christ. In the five or so years since he’s been here, nothing seems to have changed. Babe isn’t sure whether he’s annoyed or amused. “Good old Toccoa High,” he whispers under his breath as he steps through the open office door. At the admin desk, a familiar head of dark brown hair is bent forward, looking suspiciously like it's asleep. When Babe clears his throat the head jerks upwards with an unpleasant crack.

“Babe Heffron,” Nix says with that old crooked smile Babe remembers well from his high school years. “Saw you were Hoob’s replacement, but didn’t quite believe it until now.” He stands and offers his hand for Babe to shake. “Buck’ll have a field day when he hears you’re here. Never shuts up about that time he beat you in darts. _Wiped the floor with Heffron, I did._ Christ, you think beating a sixteen year old wouldn’t be that much of a goddamn victory.”

“He cheated,” Babe says, feeling the need to defend his teenage self’s honour. “What kind of History teacher verses his students in darts anyway?”

“The kind who knows he can whoop their asses,” Nix says with a smirk, now seated back in his office chair and typing something up on the computer in front of him. “You got your timetable via email, right? Good. Dick wants to have a quick word with you, too, before you head off to your first class…” Nix squints at the computer screen. “Freshman gym. Ouch.” He shares a commiserating grimace with Babe, before shooing him towards the principal’s office. “I don’t suppose I need to tell you to behave?” Nix calls, and just because he can—he’s an _adult_ now, a proper _teacher_ , there’s no way he’s passing up a chance like this—Babe flips him the bird over his shoulder. Nix’s answering laugh follows him all the way into Principal Winters’ office, only cut off when the man himself gestures for Babe to shut the door.

"Heffron,” he says with a grin, giving Babe a firm handshake. “Can’t say this isn’t a surprise. You didn’t exactly express school spirit while you were still a student here.” He looks at Babe expectantly.

“I, uh, I guess not. Sir.” Babe rubs the back of his neck, which feels like it’s burning. “But I thought about it a lot, coming back here, and I—I like kids, I like teaching gym, and I like not having to move away from home. I reckon there’s nothing for me to lose.”

“Except maybe your dignity, when Buck leaks stories of your misadventures to the student body.” Winters’ eyes are sparkling, and Babe lets out an obligatory huff of a laugh.

"‘Cept that, yeah.” He fidgets under Winters’ gaze for a few long moments, before the older man stands and gestures for Babe to follow suit.

“You were a good kid, Babe, and I know you’ll be a good teacher. I just hope you feel the same way about the kids after spending six hours a day with them.”

“I’m sure I will, sir.”

“Please,” Winters says, walking over to the door and opening it for Babe. “Call me Dick. Welcome back to Toccoa.”

 

 

 

 

 

Babe is already regretting becoming a teacher, and it’s not even third period yet.

“Coach Heffron,” David Webster, a senior with a superiority complex, says for the fourth time that day, “I object to running track. I injured my leg pretty badly last year, and I don’t think—”

“Shut up, Web,” Joe Liebgott snarks from where he’s lacing up his trainers. “It was a sprain, not a fucking amputation. Quit whining.”

“Language,” Babe says sharply, but privately he agrees. Webster’s been at him since the beginning of class, complaining about _my leg this_ , _Coach Hoobler that_ … If Babe wasn’t a teacher, and responsible for the kid’s well being, he’d slap him upside the head. For now, all he can do is tell Webster to can it and change into his PT gear, because, “We’re running Currahee.”

It’s not that big of a deal. Currahee’s a small hill that dominates the rear end of Toccoa’s oval, with a flag pole sticking proudly into the sky at the summit. Babe’s old gym coach from when he’d been a student, Sobel, who retired the same year Babe graduated, had made them run up, down and around that hill three times for a warm-up at the start of every lesson. Babe’s only making his kids do it once—they should be thankful.

Of course, David “I’m going to Harvard” Webster probably wouldn’t know thankful if it bit him on the nose, but Babe can dream.

A dream which goes horribly, nightmarishly wrong when halfway through the run, Skip Muck’s ankle gives a horrifying _crack_ as he trips over an overgrown tree root. His best friend, Malarkey, is by his side in half a second. Babe is only a moment behind. “How bad’s the pain, Skip?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady, even though inside he’s screaming at the unfairness of it all. His first day? Come on! The man upstairs sure does have a twisted sense of humour.

“Uhh,” the kid grinds out through his teeth. “Bad. Pretty—pretty bad, yeah. Fuck.” Babe doesn’t reprimand him for the language—if this had happened to him, he would’ve said a lot worse—but instead gestures for Malarkey to help him get Skip to his feet. They do it, albeit unsteadily, with one of Skip’s arms thrown over each of their shoulders. Babe gives the rest of his class, who are standing around looking concerned, a quick glance.

“Okay,” he says, thinking on his feet, “I want you to change out of your PT gear and head to the theory room. There’s a pile of textbooks on my desk. Take one and summarise the first chapter. I’ll be checking the work next period.” At the chorus of groans from the class, Babe rolls his eyes. “I didn't want to start off the year with theory, either, but doing it now means you won’t have to later. _Please_.” Still grumbling, the class heads back towards the school. _At least Webster looks happy_ , Babe thinks exasperatedly.

“All right, Malarkey,” he says with a sigh, Skip already a dead weight. “Let’s see if I remember where the nurse’s office is.”

 

 

 

 

 

The nurse’s office, thank God, is only a short walk away from the gym. Babe doesn’t lose his way, which is only a small comfort. He and Malarkey help Skip through the door and sit him down on the bed. The nurse, who had been sitting with his back to them doing paperwork at his desk, swivels around on his chair, and suddenly the only thing running through Babe’s mind is _holy shit._

It’s very clearly _not_ the sweet old lady who’d been around when Babe was a student. This nurse is a little older than Babe, maybe, with pale skin and smile crinkles at the corners of his eyes. His hair is almost pitch black, a colour Babe’s never seen on a real person before, and messy, like he’s been running his hands through it. There’s something about the image as a whole that just makes Babe’s brain short circuit, so when the nurse asks him what happened, it’s Malarkey who answers when Babe can’t find the words.

“We were running Currahee and Skip tripped. It looks bad,” he says, concern lacing his voice, and it’s that which draws Babe back into the real world. He clears his throat and watches as the nurse examines Skip’s ankle. His fingers are gentle as they prod along the inflamed skin, checking for a break, and Babe can’t help but feel jealous of Skip, which is ridiculous—he’s jealous of a teenager with a _broken ankle_ , what the fuck is he thinking?

Despite telling himself that, over and over, Babe still wishes the nurse was looking at _him_ with concern, rather than the kid.

“S’broken, a’right,” the nurse pronounces in a curiously out-of-place accent as he straightens up, directing the statement at the three of them. “Nothin’ too bad, just a clean break far as I can tell, but you’ll want an x-ray up at the hospital.” Babe curses his bad luck. A hospital visit? He is going to have _so_ much paperwork. “Are your folks available to take you there?”

Before Skip can answer, Malarkey jumps in quickly, saying, “I’ve got a car, Doc, and a free period next. I can take him.”

“I ‘preciate the thought,” the nurse says kindly, “But you’re both still seventeen, so you’ll need a parent or guardian t’ sign you out. Skip?”

“My ma can pick me up,” he says slowly, through gritted teeth. “I’ll call her.”

The nurse nods and heads over to the closet on the far side of the room. “You’ll need t’ wait at the front office, so Nix can sign you out—use this.” From the closet he pulls out a collapsible wheelchair, which he quickly folds out. “No joyriding, you two,” he tells the students sternly. “Malarkey, you can take him, but once his ma’s got him you head back to class, a’right?” As if suddenly remembering Babe’s presence, the nurse looks up. Under the weight of that heavy blue-eyed gaze, Babe feels like he’s been hit head-on by a bus. “If ‘s’okay with you, Coach.”

“What? Yeah, fine.” He helps Skip down into the wheelchair and watches from the doorway as Malarkey wheels him down the corridor. He has a feeling that as soon as they turn the corner and are out of sight, all hell will break loose. He turns back to the nurse before his conscience makes him accompany the boys to the office. “I, uh, don’t suppose that was a great first impression.”

The nurse tilts his head to the side, his eyes crinkling into a half-smile. “Not the best I seen, no,” he agrees, with an amused lilt to his already melodic voice. _Christ_. Babe hasn’t been this sappy since Doris in his sophomore year. “Gene.”

Babe blinks. “What?”

The nurse’s smile turns into a low, soft laugh which makes Babe’s toes curl in the best way possible. “My _name_. S’Gene.”

“Oh.” _Gene._ The name suits him, Babe thinks. It’s all soft consonants and long vowels, calming in a way that he can’t explain. “I’m Babe. Heffron. I’m the new gym teacher.”

“I figured.” Gene turns around to rummage for something in his desk, and Babe takes the time to admire the curve of his ass. It’s a nice view. “What kind o’ name’s Babe?”

“It’s—it’s a nickname,” Babe says lamely to the back of Gene’s head. “Cos I’m the youngest outta five kids, my ma started calling me it when I was little, and I guess it just stuck.”

Gene seems to find what he’s been looking for because he turns back around, his eyes dancing. Babe can’t look away. “Well, what’s it a nickname for?”

“Nuh uh,” Babe laughs, not thinking before he speaks. “That’s third date info, sorry. Classified.” It takes him a long moment to realise what he just said; when he does, he backtracks as quickly as humanly possible. “I mean—I don’t tell just _anyone_ that, you know? Not—I wouldn’t—Christ.” He trails off when he realises that Gene is laughing at him. “What?”

“I ain’t ever seen someone turn so red so fast, s’all.” Babe blushes even harder at that, and Gene bites back his laughter with a grin. “I ain’t teasin’, Heffron, just telling it how it is. In fact,” he says, stepping closer to Babe, so close Babe can count Gene’s long, dark eyelashes, “I think it’s kind o’ cute.”

“You—what?” Babe doesn’t know what’s happening. Is Gene _flirting_ with him? Babe is a _teacher_ , for Christ’s sake, this is his first day on the job, he has a class he should be getting back to and he just watched one of his students break their ankle—this shouldn’t be happening. Should it? _Can_ it? Is this kind of thing even allowed?

Gene just smirks and leans in even closer—one inch more and their lips will be touching. Babe holds his breath, almost unconsciously. His stomach is a mess of butterflies. He can feel Gene’s breath on his cheek. Time slows down, Gene leans closer, Babe’s eyes flutter closed, and—

And something is shoved into his hand, the warmth of Gene disappears, and when he opens his eyes the nurse is back sitting at his desk, smile dancing across his lips. Babe glances down to see what he’s been handed, and—oh. _Oh_.

Paperwork.

“That’ll need to be in by the end o’ the day,” Gene sing-songs from his chair, swivelling around so he’s facing away from Babe, who can hear the laughter in his voice. “Copy for me, copy for Nix. Make sure you fill out every detail.”

Babe glances down at the paperwork, skimming the front page to find what has made Gene so amused, and his eyes land upon the very first box. _Full name_ , it reads in neat, typed letters.

“Guess I won’t hav’to wait til that third date, after all.” Babe glares at the back of Gene’s head but the nurse doesn’t turn around, seemingly enthralled in his own paperwork. Right. And to think, he’d seemed like such an angel.

Babe leaves the nurse’s office with an exasperated huff, headed first for the office where he’ll make sure Malarkey got Skip there safely, and then back down to the classroom, where he’ll get to deal with Webster and Liebgott biting each other’s heads off for another half hour. Walking down the corridor, past the familiar doors and noticeboards and stairwells where he spent the better half of his teenage years, Babe wonders why he ever chose to come back to this place. It wasn’t the staff, that’s for sure, though Nix and Compton are good for a laugh. It wasn’t the proximity, for as much as Babe tells himself that, there are at least another half dozen schools within driving distance of his apartment. And it certainly wasn’t the kids, because as much as Babe might enjoy having them around, teaching them for six hours straight is a stretch upon his admittedly non-existent patience.

No, it’s none of that. Babe doesn’t really know what it was which drove him to return to Toccoa High as a teacher, but as he heads towards the front office where he just _knows_ Malarkey’ll be making a fuss, where Dick will probably want to chat with him about the incident, where Nix will likely laugh his head off over the whole thing, he thinks of big blue eyes and soft, dark hair and a lilting Louisiana accent, and thinks, yeah, maybe he doesn’t know the reason why he came, but he’s sure as hell found an even better reason to stick around.


End file.
